The Downside of Stealing
by MexicAmerichick6
Summary: In which Yuuri experiences after getting shot by a Catholic priest at night.


"Oh, lucky me," muttered the young, black masked, man, dipping his hand into the safe, throwing in everything he could into his bag. He laughed seeing the crisp and worn out dollar bills and coins that sat right before him.

He placed the bag on his back, treading out of the church's safe room. Yuuri was very fortunate; this weekend had a very large mass group, and with very large, meant more money for his delight. As he ran down the cement path that was outside, a finely crafted shoe appeared with a quiet tap, just by the church's front doors.

Yuuri turned both ways at the street, never knowing who might appear at this time at night, when—

"You know, that money could in a better bag unlike your scummy one right now."

Yuuri froze, but his neck had other plans, craning to who called out for him. His robe and silver hair was blowing in the wind, his hands cupped before him like a kind elder.

"What the?" Yuuri narrowed his eyes at the man. "The hell you are?!"

"Tut, tut," Father Nikiforov shook his finger at him. "It's mean to swear, dear child."

Yuuri gritted his teeth, as Father Nikiforov chortled, inching towards him. Just where did he come from?

"I must ask you to return that money, and please be on your way, before I take higher measures." His ominous blue eyes were staring right through Yuuri's.

Yuuri shook his head, backing away. "No, it's gonna take a lot more than that to stop me!" He turned around and sped up.

"That's what I mean," Father Nikiforov commented, lifting a silver piece to his cheek. He was holding a long, shiny silver bow in his right hand, where a wooden arrow was perched upon.

 _Ziiiip!_

A silver arrow pierced into Yuuri's right shoulder blade as if Yuuri was a vulnerable deer. He grunted, tripping on his own feet and landing on the sidewalk. The bag he had fallen as well, but fortunately, the money didn't fall out.

Yuuri hissed through his teeth, feeling the burn. He placed his other hand on his back, trying to find the arrow.

"Ow, is this a—" Yuuri attempted to yank it out, but he flinched. "OW!" He shut one eye, his ribs stretching out like dough.

Footsteps tapped behind him, with Father Nikiforov stopping with his hands behind his back. He was smiling, so glad to have learned archery all those years ago. So efficient. "There are plenty more where that came from, child."

"Sh-i-i-i-t!" stuttered Yuuri, attempting to crawl away, but Father Nikiforov's shoe gently landed on his back.

"Nuh-uh, no swearing!" Father Nikiforov chastised.

Yuuri grit his teeth. "What the heck? I thought priests weren't supposed to hurt other people!"

"Who are innocent," Father Nikiforov tilted his head, matter-of-factly. "You and innocents are two very different things."

Yuuri growled, he held his hand out for the bag, but Father Nikiforov stomped around and picked it up, slinging it over his back.

"Hey!" Yuuri called out, trying to look up at the priest, but he winced when he felt the pain in his back.

"Goodness, if you wanted money, why didn't you obtain a job like a real member of society?" the priest scolded like a school teacher.

"H-Hey, what are you doing?" Yuuri demanded, feeling a few hands around his ankles. His head shook around, as he told, "S-Stop it, I'm an atheist!"

Father Nikiforov only shook his head, quietly dragging the young thief down the street, both bag and bow and arrow-quiver dangling on his back. Yuuri only slammed his hands on the ground, like some fussy newborn.

Once the front doors were opened, Yuuri only slammed his forehead into the front, not caring about the dust on the face.

The next thing Yuuri felt, was being laid on the communion table, only without the cloth, being nursed by the priest. What the?

"Why are you helping me?" Yuuri asked, before letting out a cry and feeling Father Nikiforov snap the arrow in half.

"Why are you even stealing money from the church?" the priest put his hands on his hips. He raised one brow. "Hmm?"

Yuuri frowned.

"I asked you a question, now answer it," Father Nikiforov folded his arms, voice hovering over Yuuri's back.

"Just to pay off for some from the Silk Road," Yuuri told him.

"Oh, the Deep Web? You thought the money for the church could aid you?" Father Nikiforov walked away from the table, leaving Yuuri behind, going to the room with a sink. He returned with a torch, pliers, and several bandages.

"What are you doing?" Yuuri demanded out of terror, hearing something metal tweak in the air.

"Hold still, this won't a hurt a bit; it'll burn so much!" Father Nikiforov warned, pinching the broken arrow with them, paying no heed to the screaming-in-pain boy.

Yuuri was wincing mouth agape, wanting to touch his wound but Father Nikiforov slapped the hand away. "Not done yet!" he turned on the torch, and even more screaming erupted.

(-)

A large white patched was wrapped under the armpit and shoulder blade, covering where the arrow hit. Yuuri was holding onto the wound while standing in front of Father Nikiforov.

"You'll be staying here for the night," he told, unlocking the door to the confessionary.

Yuuri winced, "B-But, my apartment!"

The priest shook his head. "You're not causing any more trouble tonight." He opened the door and urged Yuuri in.

"After you've healed, you will spend your weekends performing services for this church. Raking leaves, vacuuming the aisles, and ironing the robes."

"Wh-what?!" Yuuri jaw-dropped, staring right at the priest. "Why?"

"Because there is nothing more punishing than ironing clothes and vacuuming floors, especially someone else's!" Father Nikiforov told.

"Oh, and the best part, you will attend mass the same time as well. Oh I know, every Atheist's worst nightmare come true!" Father Nikiforov guffawed, nose pointing to the ceiling.

Yuuri could only look at him, as the priest locked the door right behind him. Yuuri sat in the chair, rubbing his head. There was something very familiar about that man—he knew he saw someone like him before while looking around on the Deep Web. Yes, that person was sort of a vigilante, using knives and other sharp objects on their missions—their name being 'Black… Aria?'

Wait… could he have been…?

"Oh, god!" Yuuri gripped his head.

No wonder the guy stopped him with a bow and arrow.

He was Black Aria.

* * *

 _Reviews/hits/etc. help out a lot. I'd like to thank the kind person that made 'Father Nikiforov' a possibility!_

 _MA6._


End file.
